


Secret

by ImagineBeatles



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Coming Out, FTM, Fluff, M/M, Trans Male Character, Transgender Paul, gender insecurity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9370082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineBeatles/pseuds/ImagineBeatles
Summary: Paul McCartney is a 17-year-old trans boy. He lives in Liverpool with his father and brother, does well in school, plays in a skiffle band, had great friends and even has a wonderful boyfriend by the name of John Lennon, who is almost a ted. Life couldn’t be better. Only, John does not know he’s trans and Paul is afraid to tell him. Then, however, John starts to notice some little things about his lover that he hadn’t noticed before.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my Tumblr and Wattpad account and was requested to me by someone on Tumblr. Personally, I kind of love this fic and got some great responses to it, so I decided to post it on here as well. I'm not personally trans, but I did a lot of research, so I hope it's all good! I love you all! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own The Beatles, this is fictional and I do not make money with this in any way. It's all meant for entertainment.

Paul awoke that morning to the sound of rain and wind slamming against his little bedroom window. It was supposed to be summer now – school had finished about four days ago – but Paul had yet to experience it, as it had been raining pretty much non-stop, despite it being unusually hot. For once, however, Paul didn’t let the bad weather affect his mood, and happily threw his legs over the edge of the bed and got up, excited for the new day. Humming Rip It Up by his idol Little Richard to himself, he opened the curtains, letting the grey light flood into his little bedroom, and greeted the dreary outside with a bright smile, before quickly making his bed and opening his closet to see what he could wear that day. George would pick him up at a quarter past ten to go to John’s together for band practice, so Paul wanted to wear something nice for his boyfriend. He wasn’t sure why John wanted to start band practice in the morning, as he knew how he could get when he had to wake up early, but frankly he was glad to have an excuse to get out of the house and spend the day at John’s, where he wouldn’t be terrorised by his brother and his camera.

He debated for a while which clothes would make his chest stand out the least while still making him look sexy at the same time, before grabbing his tightest pair of black drainies (they weren’t real drainies, as his father wouldn’t allow him to get them, but he had let his regular jeans be taken in to create the same effect), a white shirt, a red pull-over, and his leather jacket – it had cost him a few quid but it was his best buy to date. He could already hear his father’s voice in his head, telling him his trousers were too tight and that he was dressed far too hot for the time of year. Paul didn’t care, though. He’d rather be a little warm than have anyone call him a “ _she_ ”. He hated it when that happened and, although he had trained himself not to react to it, it still hurt. Grabbing some clean underwear, his binder, and his packer, he rushed to the bathroom, sighing in relief when it was empty.

Turning on the taps, Paul drew himself a bath and studied his face in the mirror as he waited for the bath to fill up. He looked like a mess, with his bedhead of ruffled hair, heavy eyes, loose-fitting pyjamas and rosy cheeks. He had always been called handsome – or “pretty” and “cute” when he had still been a child – and Paul had to admit he wasn’t bad-looking, but those perfectly arched eyebrows above his hazel doe eyes always remained something he felt insecure about. He had always been complimented on them when he had been little, and he hated them for it. They were _feminine_ , and no matter what he tried, they remained perfect. Girls were jealous of him for them, and some even thought it made him look even handsomer, but Paul would be more than happy to trade them, wishing they were either less curved or rougher. Grimacing at himself, he shot himself a wink in an attempt to make himself feel better, before splashing some cold water on his face and drying it off with a towel. When he turned back to the bath, it was all ready for him. He made sure to lock the door, before stripping naked and letting himself slide into the warm bath with a content sigh, feeling his body relax as the warm water engulfed him. Maybe he could stay in a tiny bit longer?

It was five minutes past ten by the time Paul got downstairs, and he was already feeling warm in his clothes, which he knew didn’t promise much good for the rest of the day. Still, he pretended to be fine and said a cheery “hello” to his father as he walked into the kitchen. The eldest of the McCartney household glanced up from his newspaper and raised an eyebrow as he saw what his son was wearing, but Paul pretended not to see and walked on, having spotted his brother standing at the kitchen counter, eating his cereal as he was going through some of the photographs he had taken.

The McCartney kitchen was small, with only just enough space for a tiny breakfast table at which all three of them could sit if they squeezed. They didn’t often have to, though, as they had their dinner in the living room in front of the telly and rarely ate lunch together, the brothers having their lunch at school or out somewhere most of the time. Breakfast was the only time they needed to squeeze together if they wanted to sit, which they rarely did. But that’s what you got when you turned your dining room into a music room, Paul supposed.

He glanced over his brother’s shoulder to see which pictures he was looking at and smiled as he saw they were the ones he and Mike had taken together four days ago after coming home from school. They had turned out well.               

“Paul, please don’t tell me you’re going out wearing that?” Paul looked up from his brother’s pictures back at his father, who was looking at him with disapproval in his eyes as he stared at Paul’s dubious choice of clothing. Paul looked down at himself with a surprised frown, pretending not to know what his father was talking about.

“What? Why?”

“It’s almost eighty degrees out there, Paul! You’ll melt!” Jim McCartney told his son, who rolled his eyes at his father’s comment, before turning around to make himself some breakfast.

“I’ll be fine, Dad. It’s not as warm as it looks,” he tried, despite better knowledge, being well aware that his father had a point. The only thing was, his father knew it too.

“Son-”

“I’ll be _fine_!”

His father huffed at that, but didn’t try to press the issue, knowing there was no way to change his son’s mind once he had gotten an idea into it, and turned back to his newspaper.

“George’s picking me up at quarter past for band practice. I don’t know how long I’ll be. We’re going over to John’s so… you know,” Paul said as he sat down with his father at the table with his breakfast, hoping the change of subject would make his father drop the issue.

“You better be home for dinner, Paul. I’m making fish pie,” his father said as he turned the page with a sigh, his eyes leaving the paper for a moment to look his son firmly in the eye. Paul took the opportunity to nod and smile, wanting to get back on his good side. He liked his father’s fish pie, though; it was one of the few things he actually knew to cook _well_ , the recipe having been his grandmother’s from Mary’s side of the family. She had always been fond of it too, which was why he liked making it; to keep her spirit alive.

“Sure, Dad. I’ll be on time. We won’t be that long anyway, I don’t think,” he said in reply, and with one last glance at the watch around his wrist, he started on his breakfast, shoving it into his mouth as fast he as could, wanting to be done before George would knock on the door, something that could happen any minute now. He occasionally blew into his tea to cool it faster.

“Paul, are you sure you don’t want to wear-” Jim couldn’t help but ask after a couple of long silences, but Paul was quick to interrupt him, not wanting to hear it.

“Yes, Dad. I’m sure,” he said, and Jim mumbled something to himself that Paul couldn’t hear, but he decided not to give it any thought. He was fine. 

***

Paul was not fine. His father was right, as always. It was too hot, even just inside their kitchen with the back door open, allowing the somewhat cool air in. He had already started to sweat – he could feel it – and he knew he was going to have to put something else on. Only, he didn’t want to. What if anyone _saw_? What if _John_ saw?

The doorbell rang and Paul hurried to put his tea down and get up to answer the door, but his little brother been faster and beaten Paul to it, shouting a faint “I’ll get it” behind him as he went, having already shot out of the kitchen by the time Paul had put his tea down. He let himself fall back into his seat with a defeated sigh, and blew into his shirt in an attempt to cool himself at least a little. He could feel his father’s eyes on him, but he pretended not to notice. He listened to the muffled voices of his brother and George talking to each other, and picked up his tea to finish it anyway before they’d leave. His guitar stood waiting in the hallway, so he was all set to go. _To see John_ , he thought with an internal squeal.

The volume of the voices increased and soon the two young men entered the kitchen. Paul looked up at his best mate with a large smile, which quickly vanished as he saw the look on his face as George looked him up and down.

“What?” he asked, being slightly worried now.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Paul? It’s fucking hot outside and you’re wearing a goddamn sweater and a leather jacket?!” his friend exclaimed, swallowing any other rude words when he noticed Paul’s father sitting right next to his friend, looking at him with a raised eyebrow at his improper use of language. “Sorry, Mr McCartney.” 

Paul rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Geo. You’re overreacting,” he said, hoping this was going to be the last time he’d hear anyone say anything about his choice of clothes. They didn’t understand. They didn’t have those weird lumps on their chests. George, however, didn’t seem too easily deterred.

“No, you’re not fine. Go get changed. This is crazy,” he simply told him, but again Paul refused, much to George’s annoyance. “You’ll die of overheating if you don’t lose some layers. Come on!”

“I’ve been telling him the same thing!” Jim McCartney suddenly butted in, and Paul could already tell he wasn’t going to win this argument. Not this time.

“But, Geo-”

“No, Paul. No buts. You’re going to get changed. Come on, I’ll help you find something,” George said, and Paul reluctantly gave in, knowing George would drag him upstairs like a screaming child if he wouldn’t go willingly. The moment he got up, George grabbed him by his elbow and dragged him upstairs with him.

***

“So,” George said as he put Paul down onto the bed rather forcefully. “Get those clothes off and let me find you something else. What about that white shirt you like so much? You know, the one with the green buttons and the rolled up sleeves? That one is nice.”

“It’s in the washer,” Paul muttered as he did what George had told him to do, feeling how his cheeks heated up as he exposed more and more of his chest. George hummed at his answer, pulled Paul’s closet open and started rummaging through it, searching for something for his friend to wear with a thoughtful look on his face. Once Paul had taken everything off apart from his jeans, he laid down onto his bed, propping a pillow up against the wall to lean against as he watched George pull out different shirts for him to see what he thought. Mostly, his suggestions were met with a negative. When he pulled out a black and white striped shirt, Paul grimaced and shook his head.                

“Oh come on! It looks so good on you, I swear!” George tried, holding out the shirt for him with pleading puppy eyes and the most dramatic pout Paul had seen in a long time. Still, he shook his head.

“I don’t know, Geo…”

“Please, Paul.”

“It just _shows_ , you know? Like, I know it does.”

“It doesn’t! I promise, you look like a stick, that’s how flat you are. Just try it on.”

“George…”

“John likes it, you know. Especially with that black jacket of yours. Says you look like Elvis, he does,” George told him with a knowing grin, pushing the shirt out into Paul’s direction, and Paul bit his lip as he thought it over. In the end, he gave in with a groan and took the shirt from his friend.

“Fine. But if it shows, I’m changing again.”

“You won’t see a thing,” George promised, and Paul gave him a doubtful look before he pulled the shirt on over his head. When he went to grab the jacket his friend had mentioned, however, George took him by the arm and pulled him to the mirror on Paul’s closet door. The older lad whined as he saw his own reflection, his eyes staring at his chest, before he briefly glanced at George’s and then his own again, not liking what he saw. It _showed_ ; the stripes accentuated every curve of his chest, making it stand out more than normally. When George saw him looking, however, he made Paul turn around and look at himself from the side. Paul’s eyes grew wide as he saw himself now. He looked so… _flat_. It was like there was nothing even there!

“See? You can’t see a thing. You don’t wear that thing for nothing, you know,” George said, and Paul nodded slowly and continued to stare himself, not believing what he saw. He looked manly.

“You’re looking hot, mate,” George added, causing Paul to burst out in a fit of giggles, suddenly feeling so incredibly happy. A large radiant smile stayed behind as his laughter died down. “Now, let’s give John his own personal Elvis back, shall we?”

***

“Macca, love! There you are! Come in, come in! You too, Harrison, if you must.” John greeted them by the back door - everyone knew you needed to come in through the back door or Mimi would have your head - and pulled his boyfriend in for a quick kiss by the lapels of his jacket, not caring that he was slightly wet from the rain. Paul giggled in surprise by the sudden display of affection, and tried to kiss back before John released him again, watching with affection at the blush that spread over the younger man’s features. Beside them George pretended to gag as he put away his damp umbrella and toed off his shoes.

“Disgusting you two are. No respect at all for the fragile, innocent eyes of the good god-fearing people around them,” he joked, and John shot him his middle finger, before pulling Paul in for another - this time overly dramatic - kiss, playing his part in the little play George had set out for them. The youngest pretended to be disgusted and hurried to put his shoes aside, before pushing past the two men who were now consumed in an elaborate kiss, enjoying the other thoroughly. Once he was gone, John pulled away again, lowering his hand, which had been tangled in Paul’s damp hair, to his boyfriend’s hips and holding him in place, refusing to let him go. Not that Paul had any plans to move away.

“I’ve missed you, you know,” John muttered in a soft voice, causing Paul to let out a giggle.

“We saw each other two days ago,” he reminded his boyfriend, looking up into his almond eyes as he reached up to brush a lock of hair out of John’s face and tuck it back in place, before cupping the his cheek in the palm of his hand. John leaned into the touch, having missed the feeling of having Paul close to him and touch him.

“I don’t care. I still missed you. You look good,” he answered, and Paul chuckled at that last as he looked down at himself, feeling stupid for giggling so much, but he couldn’t help himself: John simply had that effect on him.

“You ought to thank George for that. He said you think I look like Elvis when I wear this.”

“Oh yes, my very own little Elvis,” John muttered in reply, an almost predatory grin on his face, as he leaned in and captured Paul’s lips for another kiss, moaning as his lover kissed back and curled his tongue around John’s. Before Paul knew what they were doing, John had him pushed against one of the kitchen counters and had lowered his hand to his arse, squeezing as he suckled on his tongue. It felt good to have John close to him again, and he moaned eagerly into his boyfriend’s mouth as he ran his fingers through John’s hair, liking how soft it felt. He wished they could have stayed like that a little longer, liking how wanted John always managed to make him feel, even on days he felt insecure, but of course it couldn’t be.

“You two love birds just going to fuck in there all day, or are we actually going to make some music?!” someone called out at them from the front room, followed by a roar of laughter. John and Paul reluctantly pulled apart, both somewhat flustered that they had let things get this far, and Paul reached up to straighten John’s clothing for him, before he fixed his own. John looked down at him with a little smile as he worked on his clothes, liking the feeling of Paul’s slender hands tugging at his clothes and smoothing it, and called back at his friends.

“Yeah, yeah! We’re coming. Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Shotton!” he said, and winked at Paul, before taking him by his hand and leading him from the kitchen to the front room, where Mimi would sometimes let them practice for a while. When they entered, everyone was already there, sitting scattered across the small living room around the fireplace, instruments ready. No one said a word about the obvious make-out session they had had and simply continued on talking to each other. They all knew they were together and it wasn’t a big deal, and if you couldn’t deal with them being that way, you would be kicked out of the band. It was as simple as that, and Paul liked it that way. It made him feel safe. John and Paul took the empty spots on both sides of Colin, their drummer, but they didn’t mind not sitting together. Once the music started, that was all that mattered: good rock ‘n roll.

They played well that morning. They mostly did what they usually did, which was going through their set list over and over again, repeating songs where was needed. Paul and John would do suggestions, and occasionally George would bring something in. The others simply did what was asked of them, not knowing much about music and being well aware of this. It worked that way; it had always worked that way, and it was how they spent the first hour and twenty minutes. Paul helped Colin on his drum work on the song ‘I Got a Woman’, not being perfectly happy with the sound, and John helped George figure out a riff that he just couldn’t get quite right. When they decided to have a break, John got them something to drink - no alcohol though, as Mimi would soon be home from running some errands - and some sandwiches Mimi had made for them all for lunch. George and Pete helped him, as Paul messed around on his guitar some more, trying to take his mind off the promise of food, feeling his stomach growl. When the other men got back into the room, he was one of the first to reach out for a sandwich, though George got one soon after. John ruffled his boyfriend’s hair affectionately, before handing him an opened bottle of coke to drink.

“Thanks, love,” Paul said with a full mouth, and forced himself to swallow his first bite, before he leaned up and pursed his lips, asking for a kiss that John was more than happy to give him.

“Hey John, you’re bi, right?” Eric asked as he got himself a sandwich as well. John nodded as he pulled away from Paul and sat back down in his own little seat, leaving his guitar to lean against the couch beside him.

“That all you wanted to ask me?”

“Well,” Eric continued, his cheeks growing a light pink from embarrassment. “I know you’ve been dating Paulie for a while now, but… are there any erm… differences? You know, between dating boys and girls?”

“Why? Trying to figure yourself out, Griffiths?”

“No! No, I was just curious, is all,” Eric quickly answered, and John grinned at him as he leaned back in his seat with a shrug. His eyes briefly met Paul’s, who had sat up at the question, curious to hear what John’s answer would be. He had only ever liked guys, so he didn’t know if there would be a difference. But at the same time, the potential answer also kind of scared him. Not because he doubted whether John actually loved him, but… he didn’t _know_. About him.

“Not really. I mean, it mostly depends on the boy or girl, you know? I mean, boys take more time at first, though. They’re more difficult to woo. It’s probably an ego thing or something, right Macca?” John said with a wink at his boyfriend, who flushed red at that, remembering the days when John had tried to ‘woo’ him all too well. He had rejected John more times than was probably normal, but for him it hadn’t been an ego thing, as such. Maybe at first it had been, but then it had changed into something else. John had always thought of him as a boy - hadn’t even questioned it once, not even once they had started to hang out together - and Paul had liked that. He liked the idea of not having to worry about whether he was masculine enough, to be able to simply be himself. But then, Paul had started to become scared to see what would happen if John would find out, and had tried to stay away from him, refusing to go out with him despite the almost feral want that pooled in his stomach whenever he saw the older man. If it hadn’t been for George, their occasional drunken kisses, and John’s persistence, they would probably still be circling each other like cats.

“Piss off, Lennon,” he muttered in reply, and took a sip from his coke as he turned away from him. The others chuckled at that.

“How long did it take you then? To seduce the knickers off of Paul and drag him into your bed?” Pete asked with an amused grin, and John and Paul shared an embarrassed look, before John uttered an answer.

“Well, I knew I wanted him after he got back from camping that summer after we met, looking all tan and having lost his baby fat, but Paul here wouldn’t have me till New Year’s.”

“Worst decision of my life,” Paul joked, and John made a rude gesture at him before continuing.

“Anyway. Even that is only a small difference and it depends on the guy or girl. But girls are a little easier, also because you don’t have to figure out if they’re into guys or not, because you can just go up to them and they’ll like tell you, you know? But apart from that… girls are gorgeous, but so is our Paul here. Presents and remembering important dates and fancy dinners and romance are very much a focus with girls, but really only because they’re more vocal about that stuff. Guys like it just as much, and if you really like someone you do that anyway and it doesn’t matter. There are tons of girls who aren’t that bothered with romance, just as there are tons of guys who love to be surprised and be taken to a fancy dinner. It’s really not that different. I do prefer guys, though, like Paulie here. There is no particular reason. It just is,” John finished with a little smile into Paul’s direction, who stared back at him in reply, a little smile appearing on his face, while at the same time feeling his heart race in his chest from nervousness. _Girls are gorgeous, but so is our Paul here_.

“Well son, looks like you’re in the clear!” Colin joked as he slapped Paul’s back, nearly causing Paul to fall off his seat as he hadn’t been prepared for that, almost spilling his drink. The others laughed again and Colin patted his back - gently this time - as an apology. Paul smiled and shook his head, as he muttered it was fine.

“Alright, ladies. Enough talk. Let’s get back to the music, shall we?” John suggested, and with some mediocre cheers, the band got started again, occasionally taking bites from their food and sips from their drinks as they played.

***

Paul found it harder to focus during the second set. Not only could he not stop thinking about John’s answer to Eric’s question, but it was also getting rather hot in the front room, the sun shining directly through the window and into the small room where all the lads were cramped together. The heat wasn’t just uncomfortable: it also made him sweat a little, which started to irritate his binder. He found himself shuffling in his seat a lot, bending his body in different ways in an attempt to fix his binder and feel a little more comfortable, but it only got worse and his back started to ache, making it more difficult to breathe properly as well. He took off his jacket, but even then it was too warm. At first it had been easy to ignore, but when John came up with the idea of adding Long Tall Sally to their set list and have Paul sing it, it became worse. They had had to play it a few times, and Paul had to give it his all when he sang, the song being hard on his voice, with all the rough screaming. He managed to get through it four times, before he asked John to do another song, as they could always come back to it, being exhausted and sweaty and needing to sit to relieve some pressure off his back and catch his breath. He saw George give him a calculating look from the corner of his eye, and he raised an eyebrow at him as Paul looked into his direction, asking him if he was alright. Paul faked a smile and nodded, not wanting his friend to worry. Besides, how long could practice still take?

Well, longer than he had thought, apparently. So long even, that when he had thought they’d be wrapping it up, Mimi came home and John announced another short break, and got up to get them all something more to drink - Mimi had gotten them more cokes, bless her. Colin stood up to help him, leaving the chair beside Paul empty for George to sit in.

“Are you okay?” the younger man asked as he sat down, turning his worried eyes directly onto Paul, who groaned in reply.

“Do I look okay?” he asked, knowing that lying to George was futile, especially because his friend probably knew exactly what was bothering him. Sometimes it really was as if the guy could read his mind, which was ridiculous, but one day Paul would find proof. He groaned again as he stretched his back, hoping to relieve some of the pain.

“If you’d rather go home, you know you can right?” George asked, and Paul nodded with a sigh, already having thought about going home. He really wanted to take off his binder, but he wasn’t going to do that here; apart from George, no one knew yet. God, why couldn’t he just come out about it? It would save him so much trouble.

“I’ll be fine, Geo,” Paul said stubbornly, and George bit his lip at that.

“You know, no one is going to hold it against you if you go home because you’re not feeling good. People get sick, you know.”

“But I’m not really sick, am I?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Paul,” George said sternly, and Paul sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face.

“I know you didn’t, George. I’m sorry. I just get frustrated.”

“Which is why I’m saying… Paul, just be honest. Do you want to go home? I’ll come with you if you do. I don’t mind. No one else will mind if you don’t feel good.”

Paul thought about it for a moment, weighing the pros and cons in his mind as he looked doubtfully at the door that led through to the kitchen, where he knew John was, not really feeling like leaving him and instead wishing he could just be with him without needing to worry about anything. But his back did ache terribly, and he knew he was lying when he said he would be fine.

“Yeah. I’d like to go home,” he said, and George nodded as he patted Paul’s knee sympathetically, before helping him up to his feet and towards the kitchen, so they could say goodbye to John and leave. The others around them looked a little worried, so Paul pretended to feel ill, like he always did when he felt like this. It felt bad to lie and he wished he didn’t have to, but he knew all too well this wasn’t the moment nor the way to come out. If only people wouldn’t make such a big deal out of it.

“John! John, we’re going home,” George said as they entered the kitchen just as Colin left, carrying a bunch of cokes in his arm, and making John look up from where he had been standing with his head in the fridge, a surprised frown on his forehead.

“Already?” he asked, looking from George to Paul and back again. “Mimi’s not going to bother us, if that’s what you’re worried about. She’ll be in the garden until we’ve finished. Or at least, till she’s decided we’ve finished.” He chuckled at that, but Paul was too uncomfortable to join him, wincing as he arched his back to try to relieve some of the pain. George steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, just in case, though. For Paul, it already helped to be reminded that George was there to help him.

“Paul? Are you okay?”

“Actually, he’s not feeling well, John. I’m just going to take him home,” George explained, and Paul nodded in agreement with a somewhat awkward smile, seeing how worried John now was, looking him over with wide eyes as he bit his lip thoughtfully, and wishing he didn’t have to lie to him about this and make him feel worried.

“It’s nothing serious. I think I just need to lie down for a while,” he muttered, making his voice croaky on purpose to make himself seem even sicker.

“You know, if you want, you could go upstairs and lay in my bed for a while?” John offered, clearly not wanting Paul to leave and for a moment, Paul was tempted to say yes, but he knew that was stupid. Just lying down wasn’t going to help, after all; he needed to take off his binder. He wasn’t going to do that here at John’s with the possibility of John finding out on his own. If he was going to come out, he was going to be the one to do it.

“John, love, I’d rather just go home. I-I’m sorry. I just really don’t feel good and I just want to go home and have some sleep,” he about half-lied, and John nodded with a sigh.

“If that’s what you want,” he muttered, and when Paul nodded, he pulled him in for a hug, and kissed his cheek as a goodbye, and Paul melted in his arms, allowing himself to slump against the older man and relax his body a little. When John pulled away, with a little kiss to the tip of Paul’s nose, George gently took him by his arm and started to guide him towards the backdoor.

“I’ll tell the others you’ve left. Call me when you’re feeling better, okay love?” John said, and Paul nodded, before he allowed George to help him with his shoes and get him out of the house, leaving John feeling slightly disappointed behind.

***

The walk home was pretty uneventful and relatively easy, considering Paul’s physical condition: the two men mostly walked together, the older one leaning on his younger friend as he occasionally moaned in pain, rubbing his lower back with his hand, as they slowly walked from Menlove Avenue back to Forthlin Road under one umbrella. Once they finally got there, the walk being longer now as they moved at a slower pace and couldn’t take any shortcuts, Paul let them in with his key, and leaned against the wall as George helped him take off his shoes. They could hear Paul’s father listening to a football game on the radio in the living room, and they softly made their way up the stairs and to Paul’s room, not wanting to disturb him. Once they were there, George closed the curtains, allowing a yellowish light so shine through the curtains, and helped Paul sit down on the bed. He helped him out of his clothes and then got up to get Paul an oversized shirt to wear. He turned around to offer Paul some privacy as he shimmied out of his binder with difficulty and pulled on his shirt. When he turned back around he helped his friend to lie down on his stomach, trying his best to ignore the whines of discomfort that escaped Paul’s lips as he moved, leaving them both glad he had managed to take Paul home with him.

“Thanks, Geo,” Paul groaned as he closed his eyes and let himself relax into the comfort of his bed. George hummed in reply and put Paul’s clothes away before he sat down next to his mate. When he raised his hands and placed them on Paul’s shoulder blades, the older man leaned into the touch eagerly, causing George to grin as he started to massage Paul’s back, hoping to relieve some of the pain he knew Paul was feeling.

“That good?” he asked, and continued what he was doing when Paul nodded with a content hum.

“That’s lovely,” he muttered, and sighed as he felt himself relax already. His back still ached, but now that his binder was off and he was actually lying down, he already felt better, and George kneading his muscles only helped with that. He turned his head to lie down on his cheek and glanced at George from the corner of his eyes, feeling thankful to have such a great friend. After a few minutes of silence, he felt his eyelids grow heavy, so he closed his eyes and focused purely on the feeling of George’s hands on his back, relieving the tension.

“Paul?” George asked after a while. Paul merely nodded with a little hum. “You haven’t been wearing it for too long, have you?” Paul blushed at the question and looked away from his friend as he shrugged. “Paul!”

“It’s not my fault! I haven’t been sleeping with it or anything. It’s just… I’ve been spending more time with John and well… sometimes it’s nice to just stay there a while longer, you know.”

“Paul, you have to be careful with that. Whether you like it or not, you do have this body and you need to take care of yourself. It isn’t healthy to have it on for too long. You know that.”

“I know. I just didn’t feel like leaving, okay? Besides, it’s not like I left it on all day! I didn’t know it would turn out to be this bad,” Paul objected, and George sighed at that with disapproval.

“You have to promise me, you’re not going to leave it on longer than you normally do, okay? I know it sucks, but you can do some serious damage.”

“I know, George! I promise,” Paul agreed, and when George didn’t say anything more, he allowed himself to relax again with a deep sigh. He knew George was right. He had known that he had been wearing it for too long and that combined with the warmth… it hadn’t done him much good; he couldn’t deny it. He just wished he didn’t need to wear the damn thing. Why couldn’t he have been born with a flat chest, like everyone else? Or… nearly everyone else. It wasn’t fair.

“You know you’re going to have to tell John one of these days, right? You cannot keep lying to him about this,” George said after a few moments of silence, letting his hands slide off Paul’s back, being done with his brief but effective massage. Paul carefully rolled over onto his back to meet his friend’s eyes, sighing in relief when his back didn’t start complaining.

“You can’t keep on keeping this up forever. He deserves to know,” George added.

“I know, Geo. And I want to tell him, I really do. I hate having to leave so suddenly like this and make John feel worried about me. I don’t want to lie to him, but…”

“But what?”

“But what if he leaves me, Geo? What if he decides he doesn’t want me anymore? What if he doesn’t think I’m manly enough? You heard what he said: ‘Girls are gorgeous, but so is our Paul.’ He prefers men, so what if he-”

“Yes, men like you!” George quickly said, but Paul rolled his eyes at that. “Come on, Paul. You know John is supportive of people being trans. And he really loves you. Of course, he’ll still want you.”

“But what if he doesn’t, Geo? Not minding trans people and dating them are different for people, you know. What if I lose, John? I don’t want to lose him!”

“You won’t lose him, Paul. I promise you,” George said, but Paul sighed as he shook his head.

“I wish I could be as certain of that as you are,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead as he felt a headache coming up. “I know I should tell him, Geo. I _want_ to tell him. You know I do. I don’t want to have to keep lying or being careful. I just want to be myself around him. I just don’t know if I can…”

“I think you can,” George said, but Paul only scoffed at that.

“I think I’m just going to take a nap, George,” he said, and with that he rolled over onto his side and away from his friend, curling his legs up and hugging them to his chest as he closed his eyes. He felt the bed beside him move, and he could hear George’s footsteps on the wooden floor, as the younger man started walking away. When the door opened, Paul stopped him.

“Thank you, Geo. For all this. You’re a great friend,” he said, and he meant it.

“Thanks, Paul. Now get some rest. I’ll call you in the morning to ask how you are,” George answered, and he left without another word. But Paul was too tired to actually feel alone, and before he had even fully realised George had left, he had already fallen asleep, his backache having reduced to a light soreness.


	2. Chapter 2

Paul knew George was right; he was going to have to tell John about him one day and the longer he was going to put it off, the more difficult it would become. In the end, it would probably be for the best, seeing as either John would show his support and they’d live happily ever after (so to speak), meaning Paul wouldn’t have to worry anymore, or John would break up with him and he wouldn’t be wasting his time dating someone who was never going to accept him the way he was. However, this didn’t mean Paul was looking forward to the conversation, but he was aware he ought to do it sooner rather than later, especially because John was bound to find out by himself someday and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready for that fight. He could be brutal and if he wasn’t happy about this news about his boyfriend, Paul wasn’t sure if he’d mentally survive it, especially if John thought he was lying to him on purpose or trying to trick him or whatever his mind would come up with in his anger. He didn’t want John to feel betrayed. Thus, Paul decided, he was going to have to tell John. The sooner the better.

His back still felt sore from that previous day, so Paul decided to only wear a pair of pyjama bottoms and a loose shirt, not bothering with proper clothes or with his binder and packer, wanting to lessen the pressure on his body for a little while and give himself some time to relax. Everybody probably thought he was ill anyway, with the way he had left yesterday, and he didn’t plan on going out or meeting up with anyone anyway, so this was the perfect moment for it. He did take a brief shower, went downstairs for breakfast, which he had in the back garden while his father took care of his lavender plants now the rain had finally stopped, and preceded to go back to his room to come up with a plan to come out to John. He turned on the radio, which his father had installed in his room so he and Mike could listen to comedy shows while he would listen to sport commentaries, adjusted the channel, and sat down behind his little desk that was placed under the window so he could look outside while he worked. He opened his notebook on a blank page, grabbed a pencil and indulged himself as he wrote on the top of the page with grand letters: Mission Blackbird. He chuckled at his own childish stupidity, but no one would ever see it anyway, so who cared?

The music coming from his radio played softly while Paul worked, and occasionally the lad would hum along when one of his favourite songs would come on. It helped with keeping his spirits up while he thought of a way to tell John that he was trans, which at times was rather stressful; the doom scenarios were often one of the first things to pop into his head. The end result was a rather simple plan, but still Paul was glad he had worked it out. He would tell John the next time he’d see him. He’d ask him to come over his house when his father and brother were away – he didn’t want them to accidentally interrupt anything, and neither did he want them around if John would get angry at him – and have him sit down on the bed, as he would stand at a safe distance on the other side of the room. He would have him promise him not to get mad at him, so John knew it was serious, and then he’d simply say it. Just like that. “John, I’m transgender.” Or something along those lines that sounded less robotic. He would simply say it and then it was up to John to decide what to do with the information.

Or maybe it _was_ a good idea to have his father around, so he could interfere if John would get angry or violent with him, but Paul doubted that would happen. John wouldn’t hurt him. Not horribly at least. A punch in the face, he could deal with. But maybe? Just in case? Paul shook his head, closed his notebook and laid his pencil down on top it before pushing it away from him. He had to stick to this idea, however crap the idea was. John wouldn’t hurt him. Even George had told him John wouldn’t get mad at him, and he knew how to read people. If only it was as easy to believe for himself. With a frustrated groan, he let his head fall onto his desk.

The doorbell rang, and at first Paul didn’t even react; his father and brother were home, they could open the door. He only continued to sit there with his head resting on the wooden desk as he silently cursed himself. When the person at the door rang again, he raised his head enough to make himself audible as he shouted at his brother in the other room across the landing.

“Mike! The door!” he said, before dropping his head again. Mike, who was in his own room doing things Paul wasn’t sure he ever wanted to know about, shouted back at him to get it himself. He was busy, or so he claimed, but Paul didn’t buy it. The person rang again.

“Mike! Don’t be a lazy pig and open the door! Dad’s in the garden!”

“No!” Mike shouted back and Paul groaned, before lifting his head up all the way with a deep sigh, hoping that the person at their front door had a bloody good reason to be this persistent. When the bell rang again, he lost it and got up from his seat and made his way downstairs to open the door, having had enough of that horrid sound of the doorbell ringing over and over again. He had been ready to greet the person with an annoyed “What?!”, but when he pulled the door open and saw who actually stood behind it, he could only stare in surprise for a moment.

“John!” he cried out at last, flushing as he realised he was still very much under dressed and _not wearing his damn binder!_ Right away, as if on instinct, he hunched over slightly, hollowing his back to hide his chest from John’s eyes, not wanting him to see. “Er… what are you doing here?”

His boyfriend frowned at him as he looked him up and down a couple of times, looking rather surprised for whatever reason, and Paul offered him a nervous smile in return. In his hand, Paul now saw, he was holding two guitars, one of which was his. When the older man saw him looking at it, he offered it to him.

“You forgot this at my place yesterday, so I er… I thought I’d pay my man a visit and give it back and maybe try to cheer him up and make him feel a little better, but it seems that that won’t be necessary anymore,” John explained, and Paul flushed as he took his guitar from John with trembling fingers, having briefly forgotten that John had thought he was actually ill.

“Yeah, I er… I’m feeling much better, actually. I think I just needed to catch up on some sleep,” he quickly lied.

“Oh good,” John said, nodding in understanding and Paul nodded with him as he started to stroke the strings of his guitar, needing to have something to do to calm him down a little. “So, are you still going to let me in, or what?”

“Oh, yes! Yes, of course. Hi,” Paul muttered awkwardly as he stepped aside to let his boyfriend in, smiling when John closed the door behind himself and cupped Paul’s cheek in his hand to place a gentle kiss to his lips, causing Paul’s heart to flutter.

“I’m glad you’re feeling well again. You kind of had me worried, you know,” John whispered as he pulled away, and Paul reached up to run his fingers to John’s hair as he nodded.

“I’m alright, John.”

“It’s just, you’ve been getting sick a lot lately. You sure everything’s okay?”

“Yes, John. I promise you I’m good.”

“And if something was wrong, you’d tell me, right?” John asked, and Paul chuckled at that as he nodded, looking John directly in the eye as he stroked the man’s cheek with his thumb. He leaned into his boyfriend’s touch when John wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him closer.

“You’ll be the first to know, love. I promise. Now, I’m going to go upstairs and change into something else, and you can go to the kitchen and get yourself a cup of tea or something. My dad will make you some, I’m sure,” Paul said as he leaned in to give John another little peck on the lips. John grinned back mischievously in return.

“You know, I could come up with you and help you get out of these clothes,” he suggested, tugging at them to illustrate his point, and Paul laughed at that as he shook his head.

“Sorry, Johnny, but not with both my father and Mike at home. Just be a good boy and wait for me, yeah?” he asked, and John groaned, but nodded anyway, so Paul rewarded him with another kiss, causing a little smile to appear on John’s lips. As soon as he broke the kiss, he wiggled himself free from his grasp and pulled away from him, before hurrying upstairs to get changed and put on his binder, dragging his guitar up with him. Maybe, Paul thought as he put his guitar aside, he could come out to John today and get it over with. He just hoped he wouldn’t get angry with him.

Making sure to hurry up and not make John wait, he grabbed his tightest pair of jeans and a simple white shirt, and squirmed himself into his binder, trying his hardest to ignore the complaints of his aching back. He still felt uncomfortable in it, the ache in his back not having gone completely, but he forced himself to put it on, not wanting to have John find out quite like that. He was going to be surprised enough without all of those things, Paul figured, and the last thing he wanted was scare him away. Once it was on, it wasn’t even as bad anymore, so he figured he would be fine as long as John didn’t stay too long. Next, he put on his packer and clothes, styled his hair into that Elvis quiff, and gave himself one last quick look over in the mirror, before hurrying back downstairs and to the kitchen where John would be waiting for him.

“Looking good, Macca,” John said as Paul entered the kitchen and in return, Paul made a little courteous bow to show his thankfulness, causing John to snicker. His boyfriend was sitting at the kitchen table, mug of tea in his left hand as he was going through Mike’s photos which his brother had left there this morning. He looked beautiful as he sat there, thick-rimmed glasses on his nose, a soft smile on his handsome features as he looked back at said pictures, his usual wall down, allowing Paul to see all of him rather than mere glimpses, which didn’t happen as often as Paul would have liked. He found himself smiling at the sight of his boyfriend and felt himself falling in love with his a little bit more right there and then. Soon, though, the wonderful feeling was replaced by the feeling of dread, making his body shiver at the cold chill that ran up his spine at the thought of ever losing this man, making him wish he never needed to tell him about his little secret in the fear that it would ruin everything. His knees were trembling when Paul walked over to his boyfriend and his hand shook as he laid it on the back of John’s chair, his fingertips grazing his shoulder.  

“I love his picture,” the man in question said, glancing up at him as he held up one of Mike’s pictures for Paul to see. Paul reluctantly tried smiling back at him, and nodded as he looked at the picture in John’s hand, the flattery of John liking one of his pictures only causing his nerves to get worse. But he had to tell John. He could do it now; his father was outside, his brother upstairs in his room, no one would bother them. This was his chance.

“John-” he started, but his voice broke off when he saw John folding the photo and sticking it into the pocket of his jeans. When he saw Paul looking, he only winked at him. “Did you just steal my brother’s picture?”

“No?” John tried, but when Paul gave him a look, he added, “I stole _your_ picture.”

“You’re a horrible man,” Paul replied with a laugh, shaking his head in disapproval.

“You won’t tell, will you?”

“Nah, not yet. After all, I can’t pass up this opportunity to blackmail you, can I? Still, it’s nice knowing who’s actually been stealing his photos. He always blames me,” Paul said with a fake pout, and John pretended to feel bad for him by letting out an emphatic little moan, as he put away the photos and reached out for him, taking his hands into his own as he pulled him to him, making him sit in his lap with his legs on either side, straddling him. Paul let himself be moved with a happy giggle, liking it when John was this touchy-feely with him, and sighed as John wrapped his arms around him, trailing his finger up and down his lower back rather soothingly.

“At least you know it’s for a good cause now. Besides, in a way it is _kind of_ your fault,” John with an amused smile as he watched Paul cock in his head cutely to the side at that, making him look even more like a puppy than he already did.

“What? Why?” Paul asked.

“Because if you weren’t so beautiful, I wouldn’t feel the need to steal those pictures your brother takes of you. I like looking at you before I fall asleep,” John replied. Paul shook his head again in disapproval, pretending John’s words didn’t flatter him as much as they did.

“I’m not sure if that’s supposed to be creepy or cute.”

“How about both?”

“Yeah, okay. We’ll go with both,” Paul said, and with that, John leaned up and pressed a small kiss to Paul’s lips, catching him half off guard, which caused him to let out a tiny little moan in reply, before his lips curled up in a love-struck smile. When they broke apart, however, the blissful feeling slowly faded and Paul needed to take a deep breath before he spoke.

“Johnny,” he tried once more, but again John interrupted him.

“Can I ask you something, Macca?”

Paul blinked a few times before nodding. “Sure.”

“It’s nothing serious. It’s just… I’ve always wondered who that girl is in that picture of your family. You know, the one with your mum and dad and Mike,” John asked, nodding with his head into the direction of the one proper family photo that the McCartneys had hanging around the house, right above the kitchen table. Paul glanced up at it and felt his throat get dry for a moment. It was an old picture, taken when he and Mike had only been children - he himself couldn’t have been older than four or five. It had been taken in front of their house, with him on his mother’s lap and Mike by his father’s side. As Paul remembered it, the sun had been shining brightly that day, which explained their somewhat serious-looking expressions.

He didn’t often look at the photo. It had been one of the few good family photos with all four of them in it, which is why his father had wanted to hang it up after his mother’s passing, but he didn’t like looking at it. He had still had his long hair, and had been wearing light blue dress with a pattern of tiny white flowers. Back then, he already hated having to wear it, but his father always insisted on it when they needed to go out or had family over, which Paul supposed had been the case at the time of the picture.

His mother had always been more lenient, not really caring how her children dressed as long as they felt good about themselves, but even she insisted on him dressing up properly for church or parties. It hadn’t been until he had been about nine or ten that she had allowed him to wear boy’s clothing to such things, or at least when she had been able to convince his father to let him do so. Although he hadn’t had a bad childhood, it were things like that, that made him feel glad he wasn’t a kid anymore and made him avoid looking at pictures of himself as a child as much as possible. It wasn’t hard to guess who John meant with “that girl”.

“Paul?” John asked after a long moment of silence, and Paul jerked awake at the sound of his voice.

“Oh! Her. Right. She er…  she’s my cousin,” he lied. He immediately regretted that, knowing it would have been a good moment to come out to John like he had intended to do not a second before John had asked about ‘her’.

“Your cousin?” Paul found himself nodding. “You two really look alike, you know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her, have I?”

“No. She er… we haven’t seen her for a long time. She was family from my mother’s side and after her parents split, we didn’t see her often anymore. Especially not after Mum passed away.”

“Oh… I see.”

“Anyway. It’s not really important. It was one of the only good portraits with Mum we had, so Dad put it up.”

“Then why aren’t you in it? Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a picture of you as a child,” John asked, sounding genuinely interested. Paul shrugged and quickly tried coming up with an excuse, mentally cursing himself for running his mouth like that.

“I must have run off somewhere. I used to do that a lot. I didn’t much like getting my picture taken. I just thought it was annoying and I was never good at sitting still. Anyway, it’s not important. Let’s do something fun, yeah?” Paul suggested as he jumped off John’s lap with faked enthusiasm, really not feeling comfortable talking to John about this and having to keep lying to him about it. Luckily, John seemed to go for the bait and laughed as he got up as well.

“I haven’t even finished my tea!” he objected, but Paul only shrugged as he grinned at his boyfriend.

“Just take it upstairs with you. And don’t forget your guitar!” he said, and before John could object, he turned on his heels and started hurrying back up to his room, feeling somewhat relieved when he heard John running after him.

***

Upstairs, John and Paul locked themselves into Paul’s little bedroom and took a seat on his bed with their guitars in their laps, their knees knocking together as they faced each other and played through a couple of their favourite songs to get in the mood. Paul did Twenty Flight Rock on John’s request - the song he had played for him the day they had first met - and in turn John played Come Go with Me, wanting to keep with the theme. Slowly, Paul felt himself relax again a little and his nerves gradually ebbed away as they played together, their voices melting together in perfect harmony. He had always loved singing with John, just the two of them. John had described it once as making love, and if this was all the making love Paul could get, he was going to take it with both hands.

Paul understood it though, why John could call it that; the way the tremor of the music travelled through their bodies, their synchronised breathing, the sound of their two voices in harmony, dancing together, around each other and with the other, the sound of it caressing them as their hands stroked their guitars, creating sweet soft music that would make its way into both of their bodies, and how they would look at each other, sharing this one little look, both unable to look away again, until by the end of it, their cheeks would flush and their breathing turned heavy. It was intimate, erotic in a sense, something only the two of them shared in the privacy of their own rooms, and it connected them like nothing else had before. It was as close to perfection as they could get, and Paul loved every single second of it.

They played some more songs and tried writing some of their own, occasionally bursting out into laughter at something the other said or did, and Paul slowly started to believe that John would accept him no matter what, the thought calming his nerves. He tried to regather strength and bravery, wanting to come out to John and have it over and done with, but still fearing his reaction. John must have noticed him worrying, for when they finished their song, he reached out and placed a reassuring hand on his knee, giving him a little squeeze to get his attention. When Paul looked up at him, however, John didn’t speak. Instead, he put his guitar aside and leaned in to capture his mouth in tender kiss, pulling at Paul’s lips with his own, and smiling as Paul gave into it and let himself melt into the wonderful feeling. Gently, John pried Paul’s guitar from his fingers and put it away as well, carefully laying it down onto the floor beside his own, as he shuffled closer to Paul and cradled the younger boy’s cheek in his hand. When Paul pulled away from him, he searched for his eyes and Paul stared back into his for a moment before leaning in himself to return the kiss. He let out a tiny little moan as John drew him closer, allowing their bodies to touch as he cocked his head and deepened the kiss.

Paul let him guide it, liking it when John would take control, and relaxed into it all, allowing his body to slump against John’s as their kiss deepened and their tongues curled together. For a moment, he thought of breaking the kiss and telling John then, knowing he wasn’t going to come out to him if he kept putting it off, but then John wrapped his arms around him and slowly pulled him down onto the bed with him. Paul giggled as he felt them tumbling down until he was lying on top of John, one of his legs between the other man’s and his previous intentions forgotten. John opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Paul had already kissed him again, eager for more.

“Hmm… I love you so much, you know that,” John muttered against his boyfriend’s lips, and let out a little whine of disappointment when Paul pulled back, much to the latter’s amusement.

“You’d better love me. Or else you won’t be getting anymore kisses,” Paul teased, and John rolled his eyes at that, before he tangled his fingers into Paul’s hair and pulled him down for another kiss to silence him. Paul let him without a word, feeling his body get hot as John’s hands started to wander, caressing his sides, his arms, his shoulder blades, and lowering themselves to rest on his arse, giving him a firm squeeze.

“I’m hoping I’ll get more than just kisses in the future, Macca,” John muttered before rolling them over so he was the one on top, keeping their mouths connected all the while to drink in all of Paul’s little noises of surprise, loving every single one of them. Paul had long stopped worrying about being noisy whenever they did this, knowing John liked it. When the latter finally pulled away, both men were out of breath and panting. Paul looked up into John’s almond eyes and sighed as he reached up to stroke his cheek with the back of his hands, feeling so incredibly lucky to have him.

“I could do this forever, you know,” John whispered, and Paul smiled at that, tugging a lock of hair behind his boyfriend’s ear as he took in all of his handsome features, wanting to remember every single one of them forever, until he could draw his face in perfect detail from memory alone.

“I’m not going to stop you,” he replied, and they stared into each other’s eyes a moment longer, breathing in each other’s air, before Paul leaned up and placed a tentative kiss to John’s lips, feeling them tremble against his own. “I love you, too,” he whispered, and, in reply, John kissed him again, slipping his tongue between Paul’s parted lips as he let his eyes fall close and let himself melt against the man beneath him. Paul pulled him closer to him, wrapping his arms around his neck to hold him in place and to make sure he wouldn’t pull away again, needing to feel John close now that he still could.

They kissed for a while, each kiss turning more and more passionate and sloppy, their want getting the better of them as they enjoyed each other and their closeness, neither feeling like ending this any time soon. They had moved more to the middle of the bed, both having feared they would fall off if they didn’t, and they didn’t want Mike to come in at the sound of them crashing to the floor and see them like this. This was private, personal, just the two of them and no one else. Besides, the pain it would probably cause wasn’t too appealing either. John was still lying on top of Paul, his one hand tangled into his boyfriend’s hair as the other pulled at Paul’s thigh, caressing him through the material of his jeans, as Paul pulled at his shirt, refusing to let go of him for even a second, as he ran his leg up and down John’s and kissed back with as much fervour he could muster.

His vision was blurred, clouded by the intense feeling of happiness and arousal as they moved and kissed, and all he could see was the light brown colour of John’s eyes when they would occasionally pull apart for air, but that was all he’d ever want to see anyway, so he didn’t mind. His mind was getting fuzzier by the minute too and he found it getting harder and harder to control himself, feeling the strange need to drown himself into John, let himself be consumed by him and become one with him.

When he felt John’s hand sliding higher up his inner thigh, though, all that quickly vanished and when his hand started to get even more curious and get too close to his crotch, Paul’s hand shot down and wrapped itself tightly around his boyfriend’s wrist, catching both of them by surprise. Their kiss broke at Paul’s sudden movement and for a moment they could only look at each other, before Paul regained the ability to speak.

“No,” was all he could get out of his mouth.

“Paul-”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Of course, it’s okay.”

“John-” Paul tried, but John shook his head and pulled his hand away. He sat up on the bed and Paul followed his example and sat up as well, feeling guilt creep up on him at the look of hurt in his boyfriend’s eyes.  

“Paul, love, you don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with,” John said nonetheless, and Paul believed it. Of course, he did. John had never done anything that he wasn’t comfortable with or didn’t want to do, and even now, one and a half years later, they still hadn’t had sex and he was always supportive of that. Paul knew he was lucky, he knew many men would have left him as soon as they realised he wasn’t going to give it up as soon as they would’ve liked. He would have been okay with it, too, if him not being ready yet had been the reason for why he kept refusing him. But it wasn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Paul repeated, although he wasn’t sure if he was talking to John or himself, and looked down in shame, feeling his cheeks heat up at the awkwardness that now hung around them. He only looked up when he felt one of John’s fingers on his chin, angling his face up to meet his eye. He smiled down at him.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Paul. I can wait. I don’t mind,” he said in a gentle and soothing voice, and Paul nodded at that.

“You sure you don’t mind?” he couldn’t help but ask, not being sure what answer he was hoping for.

“Yes, Paul. If I wanted to have sex with someone, I would have gone after Eric or something! It’s not about that. I love _you_ , okay?” he asked, and Paul nodded again as he took a deep breath and forced himself to smile. He wondered if he ought to say something now. It would be a good moment to explain. John could understand why he kept saying “no” then, because it wasn’t what John was thinking. He didn’t _want_ to say no. He longed to know what it would be like… with John. He just had no other choice. He didn’t even know if John would want to do it with him if he knew… The thought almost caused him to have a panic attack.

“Come on, Macca. Let’s get out of the house for a while, yeah? Some fresh air might do you some good,” John said, sliding off the bed, before offering Paul his hand to help him up, looking rather worrisome. Paul nodded and found that he was shaking as he took John’s hand and let himself be pulled up. Perhaps John was right. Perhaps some fresh air would be exactly what he needed. And when they’d get back, he’d tell him. He was going to have to.

***

Outside, however, Paul wasn’t doing much better. John had been right, though. At first the fresh air had done him some good: it had made him feel calmer, more grounded and less nervous, even his hands had stopped shaking. He had tried to get his body to relax, but as soon as they got off the bus in the centre of the city, he felt his nerves get the better of him again. It was busy on the streets, the warm weather having driven most people out of their homes and into the parks and the shops and the little coffeehouses to enjoy the exceptionally warm weather, the sun being a nice change from the usual grey sky that was always filled with rain clouds. He and John walked down the streets holding hands, not caring if anybody saw, and made their way to NEMS record shop to see if there was anything new and interesting for them to have a look at, and potentially “buy” - Paul knew John meant steal, but that was not the point, according to John. Paul, however, failed to see why he’d then call it “buy”, if it didn’t matter anyway, but he had some more pressing matters on his mind than simple technicalities, like phrasings of sentences and meanings of words.

Everywhere they went, he had the feeling that people were watching them, or more specifically _him_. He feared the idea that they might run into someone who knew Paul from the time he had lived in Speke, when he had still been known as “Jessie”, rather than Paul. Of course, he had started to adopt his second name “Paul” there too, but not everyone had been as understanding.  It wasn’t something he would usually worry about. Most of them simply went out of his way or Paul would go out of theirs and it was only rarely that he’d happen to run into someone. But for some reason, with him needing and wanting to tell John but putting it off, and John’s questions and concerns and little observations, he felt himself worry that someone would recognise him and say something. Or that they would run into someone seemingly harmless, but they would misgender him or call him by his old name by mistake. He didn’t want John to find out by himself or on accident. He wanted to be the one to tell him. He wanted to be honest with him. But to do that, he needed to stop being a coward and actually do it, which was easier said than done.

His pace slowed as he shrunk into himself, his worries growing and his confidence lessening, making him fall behind on his boyfriend, his hand slipping from his grasp. The thoughts of something going wrong plagued his mind, causing him to look around himself every alternative step and jump at every noise and tense up when he thought he could hear someone call his name, either one of them. It didn’t take long for John to notice how badly he was doing, and he halted for a moment as he turned around to look at his boyfriend with a concerned frown, clearly wondering what was wrong with him.

“Paul?” he asked, his voice gentle but worried. “Are you alright, love?”

“Yeah… yeah… I’m fine,” Paul replied as his fingers started to fumble with the hem of his shirt. He nodded and forced a smile as he quickly hurried over to John to catch up with him, not having quite realised how far behind he had fallen. When he was close enough, John wrapped an arm around his shoulder and held him close as he guided them to the record shop, which luckily wasn’t too far away anymore. But whereas normally John’s hold on him would have soothed him, now it only caused Paul to tense up even more, the idea John not being willing to accept him slipping into his mind again. He subconsciously gripped John’s arm a little tighter.

Once they got into the record shop, and the door fell closed behind him, Paul felt a sudden rush of relief in his body, making him relax again and breathe normally, being glad to be on safe and familiar grounds again. John gently squeezed him once more as he looked down at him and Paul smiled - genuinely this time - to let him know he was feeling much better. John nodded in return and together they walked to the section of the store where all the new arrivals were placed. They barely spoke a word as they flipped through all the records, occasionally pulling one out to see what the other thought. Once they had a few, they went into one of the listening booth together and listened to them all, before coming back out to put the disliked ones back and keep the records they had liked, before the whole affair started over again.

Paul always loved doing this with John. He could get lost in the shop for days, just listening to all the great new music, finding little gems for the band to play and making silly jokes with John. It was nice, the shop being warm, the people nice, and the music even better. For a moment, he even forgot about all his problems; he didn’t even care about needing to come out to John anymore for a brief moment. Music was and always would be an escape for him, and he wasn’t sure where he’d be without it. For John it was the same, which made doing this even better. They understood each other.

He did notice that John was still worried about him, though. He occasionally caught him looking at him, staring at him thoughtfully as they went through all the different albums and singles, as if he didn’t really trust him and knew something was wrong, but not what. Paul wished he’d stop, his concern only making it more difficult for Paul to enjoy himself.

“Paul, dear, are you sure you are feeling okay?” John finally asked after they’d been looking through records for nearly an hour and a half, and Paul sighed in reply as he turned to look at John.

“Do I look like I’m not feeling okay?” he asked, and winced internally as it came out more catty than he would have liked it to. He fought the urge to flush and turned back to the records.

“Well, yes,” John said, and Paul let out a groan. Of course he didn’t look okay. He wasn’t okay. Him not looking okay was the main reason why John thought he wasn’t doing okay in the first place. He was so stupid. God, he wished his mind would shut up.

“John, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. Something is bothering you. You know you can tell me anything right?” John asked, and Paul swallowed thickly at that last, wishing he could be so certain of that as John was. But John didn’t know. Immediately, his heart started thumping in his chest.

“I know, John,” he said nonetheless, raising a trembling hand to push some hair from his face, gasping at his saw it and quickly grabbing the wood of the crates in which the records were displayed to steady it. John, however had already noticed.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine!”

“Paul-”

“I’m _fine_.”

“I wish you wouldn’t lie to me. I can see you’re not fine. You haven’t been fine for a while now, Paul, and I do worry about you, believe it or not. I wish you’d talk to me.”

“It’s not like I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Then _do_!” Paul glanced up at his boyfriend at that, and opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind at the last moment. He shook his head and looked away again. John laid his hand over his, and Paul was shocked at the way his body tensed at such a familiar touch.

“Paul, if this is about the sex-thing,” John finally said in a hushed voice, not wanting anyone else to hear what they were discussing, but Paul quickly shook his head.

“It’s not the sex-thing,” he muttered, and winced when John raised his voice at him.

“Then what, Paul?!” he spat, and a few heads turned in surprise at his sudden outburst, causing John to flush a light pink as he took a deep breath to calm himself before he turned around to lean against the crates and stayed quiet for a moment until most people had gone back to whatever they were doing. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he said, but Paul shrugged.

“Just leave it, John,” he said, but as he had already feared, John wasn’t about to give in.

“I want to help you.”

“You can’t,” he snapped back at him, and with that, he turned to walk away, feeling how his emotions suddenly started to get ahead of him, tears burning behind his eyes, wishing he could just tell him. If only he wasn’t so damn scared of losing him. God, he hated himself. He was pathetic.

Deciding he could do with some fresh air, Paul walked out of the shop and leaned against the brick wall as he got a cigarette from his pocket. He placed it between his lips, lit it, and smoked in silence as he thought about what had happened. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up with John, how long he could keep on lying and avoiding the subject. He hated lying to John. He was his boyfriend, he deserved the truth, about everything, and yet here he was, smoking outside a record shop by himself because he refused to tell John what was bothering him, despite John clearly being worried about him. He was a crap boyfriend. Perhaps John deserved someone better. Someone without all the extra trouble. Someone… _normal_.

Paul sighed and shook his head, telling himself he shouldn’t think like that. In his mind, he could hear George telling him that. His friend was great like that, always being able to make him feel better about himself and who he was, even when he wasn’t there. But if John knew… A small smile appeared on his lips as he thought of all the sweet ways John would make sure he’d feel comfortable and happy. How great he’d be at it too, considering that most of the time he could already do that without knowing what was actually wrong. John deserved so much better them him. Perhaps he should just not bother and break it off. He didn’t deserve someone like John.

“Macca?” Paul quickly wiped away a tear from his eye at the sound of John’s voice. “Are you crying?”

“No.” Paul started laughing at his own stubbornness. John however, didn’t laugh with him. Instead, he carefully approached him, keeping a safe distance to respect Paul’s private space, something Paul was grateful for, with that way he was feeling about himself. Again, John knew exactly what to do and he didn’t even know what was going on. He let out a little sob at that last.

“Paulie…” John said, and gently reached out for him, giving him enough time to pull away if he wanted to, before he wrapped an arm around him, pulling him against his chest. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Why are you feeling like this?” he asked, but Paul shook his head. He couldn’t say it. Not now. Not with all these people around.

“Was it something I said?” John asked, and Paul let out a sad chuckle between his quiet sobs as he shook his head again. “Then what?”

“C-can… can w-we go home?” Paul stammered finally, and John nodded at that, pulling Paul away from the wall and allowing him to lean on him as he started to guide him away from the record store and back towards the bus station, and Paul couldn’t help but smile at the loving way John was treating him. If only he deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Paulie... 
> 
> Thanks for all the love on the first chapter. I'm glad you're enjoying it.   
> I know I said I'd be posting the chapters a bit quicker, but I didn't have much time to over the last couple of days.   
> Only one chapter left now...


	3. Chapter 3

Back home, Paul still wasn’t feeling much better. The entire journey back had been filled with tension between him and John, which hadn’t helped much with Paul’s nerves. John had clearly been at a loss of what to do, and although he had tried to make Paul feel better by holding his hand and trying to engage him into some small talk to get their minds off whatever was going on with his boyfriend, Paul had repeatedly pushed him away and curled up in the corner of the bus seat, keeping a safe distance between him and his boyfriend. Thankfully, John had respected this distance, and had stuck to his side for the rest of the way home, which they drove in silence, neither speaking, leaving Paul to think about what he was going to tell John.

Somewhere, he knew his fears were irrational, had known it on the bus too: John had always loved him and respected him and his choices; he had never once said anything negative about transgenders. He seemed honestly concerned about him, and even George had said John would accept him just the way he was. Only, it seemed like his brain didn’t want to listen to rational thought. It surprised him, though, how difficult he found it to be honest with John and tell him the truth. He hadn’t had it as much with anyone else, not even with George, his brother or his parents. It had always seemed like the natural thing to do for him, and although it had been difficult, he hadn’t made this much of a fuss of it to them, but with John it was different.

He sighed as he let himself fall onto the couch, lightly pulling his elbow free from John’s grip, from where his boyfriend had been supporting his weight. It wasn’t so much that he needed support; he was feeling fine physically. Mentally, however… He slid over all the way to the end of the couch and hauled up his legs to his chest, hugging them as he avoided John’s gaze at all costs.

“Wait here. I’ll get you some water. You’re looking all pale,” John told him in a soft voice and Paul nodded in return as he listened to John’s footsteps walking away. Once he heard the kitchen door open, he let out a sigh in relief, glad to have a moment alone to think.

Paul knew he didn’t have any other choice but to tell John. He had put it off for too long and now John knew something was up with him and Paul knew his boyfriend long enough to know he wasn’t going to give up until he knew what was wrong. Lying wouldn’t do either, as John could always see through that. Besides, he _wanted_ to tell John. He _had_ to tell John. It would be fine. Or so he hoped.

“Here.” Paul jerked out of his thoughts at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice so close beside him, not having heard him come back in. He glanced up at him and forced a smile as he took the glass from John to take a sip. He kept looking at John from underneath his lashes as he moved to sit down beside him, his body turned into his direction as he watched Paul drink. “Your dad is out, by the way. He left you a note, saying he was doing groceries. He’ll be back in a few.”

Paul nodded. “Thanks, John.”

“So…” John spoke after a few seconds of silence. “Are you still going to tell me what’s been bothering you?” Paul took another sip from his water before answering.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you…”

“Then please do,” John almost begged, and Paul hesitated for a moment, before shaking his head.

“It’s not that easy for me, John. I-I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while, but… I… I just _can’t_. For some reason, whenever I try…” his voice crumbled at that last, not being able to say anything more as his throat constricted, tightening until barely any air could pass through. His body jerked again as he felt John’s hand on his knee, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“You can tell me anything, love. You don’t have to be scared.”

“I-I know… just… just promise me you won’t get angry at me or make fun of me or anything like that,” Paul asked, sitting up a bit more as he took a couple of deep breaths, feeling his heart thumped rapidly in his chest as he realised he was actually going to tell John now. After two years, one and a half of which they had been dating, he was finally going to tell John. He just hoped it would be worth it. He hoped John would accept him. He finally had someone who accepted him without question and loved him for who he was, and he couldn’t stand the thought of losing that.

“Paul, why would I ever get mad at you-” John started, but Paul shook his head resolutely as he interrupted him.

“Just promise me, John. I… I need you to promise me,” he told him, and John nodded immediately, seemingly taken aback by the sudden power in his voice.

“Yes. Yes, I promise. I won’t get mad at you or make fun of you. God, Paul… I’d never do that. Not with something serious like this,” he promised, and Paul nodded as he swallowed a large lump in his throat. He let go his of legs and carefully slid off the couch. He found himself shaking again, but he refused John’s help when he asked if he was alright. It was just the nerves. He needed to do this and he needed to do this on his own. He was going to fine. George had said he was going to fine.

Slowly, he walked over to the bookshelf that stood beside the piano and with trembling fingers, he pulled out a large leather-bound book. It wasn’t as much thick, as long and wide. He let his fingers run over the binding and took another deep breath, before turning around to where his boyfriend was sitting on the couch, watching his every move with a worried expression on his face. Paul felt a strange feeling of relief as he saw that look, thinking that maybe George was right. He walked back to John and sat down on the couch beside him before placing the book in John’s lap without a word, this time sitting closer to him so he could look into the book with him. John turned to look at him with a confused expression.

“What is this?” he asked.

“There are pictures of me when I was young. I just never showed them to you. Until now,” he said as a way of explaining, feeling suddenly very confident that this was the way he had to do it, knowing it would save him a lot of explaining and that he could look at John’s expression to see how he was handling it, before he was actually going to have to say the actual words. It was safer. Or it felt that way. “Open it.”

John raised an eyebrow at that, but did as Paul asked without questioning it, trusting his boyfriend fully at that moment, probably more out of curiosity and to make sure he wouldn’t freak out anymore, but Paul appreciated it nonetheless. The first page John opened wasn’t the first in the book, but Paul didn’t mind, and when John’s hand moved to flip back, he stopped him by placing his hand over John’s. He let out a deep breath at the touch, feeling his courage grow now that he was finally doing it.

“Do you remember who that girl is?” he asked, nodding at one of the larger pictures on the page of a girl with long hair, doe eyes, shapely eyebrows, pouty lips, and chubby cheeks.

John nodded. “It’s your cousin,” he said, and smiled as he read the words written beneath it in his Mary McCartney’s hand. “Jessie.” Paul nodded and lifted his hand off John’s. He tried to get his heart rate to slow by taking some deep breaths, before he told John to go a view pages further. John nodded and did as he had asked, obeying without question. He smiled as he looked at the pictures of the McCartney family, pointing out people he knew and occasionally commenting how often his cousin was in here. Paul didn’t say anything more as simply waited as he made sure John read every word his mother had written beneath the pictures, waiting impatiently for the moment when John would realise.

“‘ _Jessie in Mike’s school uniform_ ,’” John read out loud with a chuckle as he pointed at a picture of the same girl in Mike’s old school uniform, a bright smile on her face. “She really does look like you. Especially with the short hair.” Paul hummed in reply. They looked at a couple more photos of ‘Jessie’ wearing both boy’s and girl’s clothes, with both long and short hair, until they finally got to the one page Paul had been waiting for. He held his breath and squeezed his hands into his fists as he awaited John’s reaction. It was another photo of the same person, now about nine years old, this time with short hair and boy’s clothes - which weren’t his brother’s this time - with underneath the name ‘Jessie’ scratched out and replaced with ‘Paul’. John’s hands halted before he could turn the page and stared motionlessly at the page. Paul held his breath as he awaited a reaction. Personally, he loved this photo. He regarded it as the first real photo of him just the way he was. He hoped that wasn’t going to change after this. Maybe he should have thought this through a bit more?

“ _Paul…_ ” John muttered as he let his fingers trace the edges of the photograph, his eyes wide as they skimmed the entire page. “This… this is _you_?” he asked, and Paul nodded as John turned to look at him, chewing on his bottom lip as his nerves grew again.

“John?” he asked when he didn’t say anything more.

“This… you’re Jessie?” John asked, and Paul nodded again. “I-I don’t…” Instead of clarifying what this meant, Paul took the book from him and flipped through the remaining pages, showing him pictures of him on his tenth birthday, wearing his school uniform, one for boys this time, and a few of him when he had been older, until they reached the last picture of him with his mother, a couple of weeks before she had passed away - the last picture in the book. When he closed the photo album, John still looked confused.

“I… I don’t get it…” he muttered as he watched Paul put the book down on the coffee table, and Paul sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather enough courage to actually say it. When he turned back to John and his eyes met those of his boyfriend’s, he suddenly found that courage, knowing he had to say it, and wanting to say it, for both him and John.

“John,” he said as he licked his lips nervously. “I’m trans. Jessie… she is me. Or I was her. Or am her, I suppose. It gets kind of complicated when you look at it like that. What I’m trying to say is… I’m trans. That’s… yes, that’s pretty much it.”

“You’re trans?” John asked, staring at Paul with disbelief, and when Paul nodded, his mouth fell slightly open. It looked kind of comical, and Paul couldn’t help but laugh, although it was probably more the weight that had now finally dropped off his shoulders than that he actually thought that was funny. He had _finally_ said it.

“So you’re…” John said, not finishing his question, but Paul nodded anyway.

“And you’ve…” Again, Paul nodded.

“Oh, thank God!” John exclaimed with a deep sigh of relief, and this time it was Paul’s turn to frown in confusement.

“Thank god?!” he asked dumbfounded, and John nodded, a bright smile on his face as he took Paul’s hands in his own and raised them to his lips to kiss them.

“Yes! Dammit, Macca… I thought you were going to die or something!”

“Die?!”

“Yes! I mean… you were acting so strangely and you needed to go home so often, saying you were ill, and then you’d suddenly feel better again the next day. And all those trips to the doctor every two or three months! I thought you had some strange illness and that’s why you had felt so reluctant to go out with me at first and kept pushing me away, because you knew you were going to die or something. I was so worried!” John said, and Paul stared at him as his brain tried to progress it.

“So you’re not mad at me or anything?” he asked, just to be sure, but before he had even spoken the entire sentence, John had already wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in for a firm hug. He chuckled as John pressed his lips to his cheek and kissed him.

“Of course, I’m not mad at you. How could I be? I’m just relieved you’re not ill, is all.”

“I-I’m sorry for making you worry so much… It’s just… I would have told you before, but I was so scared you wouldn’t accept me and would leave me… I mean, I was so happy when you just saw me as me, a guy, and I didn’t want you to think of me differently because of this….”

“Paul, love. Of course I wouldn’t leave you. I _love_ you, remember? _You_! That means _all_ of you, you understand? When I said you could tell me anything, I meant it. You can always tell me anything. Now I feel kind of stupid for thinking you were going to die,” John said, and he ended with a chuckle as he pulled away again. Paul chuckled along with him, feeling so utterly relieved that John wasn’t angry with him or upset or was making fun of him. He actually accepted him!

“That is pretty stupid…” he muttered, and smiled as he looked up at his boyfriend and their eyes locked. He blushed when John smiled back. “I am sorry about not telling you before,” he started again, but John shook his head.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Paul. But I’m glad you told me. I’m just relieved you’re not going to die on me or anything,” he said with another chuckle, and Paul nodded.

“I’m glad, too,” he said, and with that, John reached out for him and gently cupped Paul’s cheek in his hand, stroking his skin with his thumb, before he leaned in and placed a sweet and simple kiss to his lips, smiling as he felt Paul sigh against his mouth.

“And this,” John softly spoke as he pulled back and let a hand run up and down Paul’s side. “is what? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“My binder. Also the reason why I left so suddenly yesterday. It er… it starts to irritate when it’s warm and it makes it kind of difficult to breathe.”

“Are you okay now?” John asked immediately, and Paul nodded.

“Yes, love,” he said, and John nodded back as he looked Paul up and down, more with curiosity, amazement and love, than anything else, so Paul didn’t really mind. That didn’t mean, however, he couldn’t tease him about it. “Are you going to stare at me all day now?” he asked, and right away John’s eyes snapped up to his face in shock, only relaxing again when he saw the amused smile on his boyfriend’s face.

“What about these doctor visits? What are those for?” John asked when he realised Paul wasn’t actually angry at him for asking questions or looking at him. Still, he kept himself from staring at his body, for which Paul was grateful.

“Hormone therapy. I take shots, so I have to go to the doctor every once in a while. It’s not that bad. At first it was strange, though. But it’s working great for me, as you’re well aware,” he explained, just being happy that John was actually this accepting of him, making him feel grateful he had finally gone and done it, feeling freer already.

“I love you, Paul,” John spoke suddenly, and Paul smiled at that as he flushed a light pink.

“I love you too,” he muttered.

“And er… thanks for telling me, for trusting me.”

“Sure, and thank you for being so accepting. It makes me feel kind of stupid for not having told you before, but…”

“I know, Paul. It’s fine. Now, let’s go eat something. I’m fucking starving!” John said, taking Paul’s hand in his and dragging him off to the kitchen with him, and Paul let him, still smiling to himself at how lucky he was to have John.

***

Even stranger than the fact that it had taken him ages to tell John about him being trans, was how easy it was for him to be out to John and to be relaxed around him. At first he had been nervous to have John see him without his binder on, and it still took him a while to get used to John touching him in places that were a little more intimate without tensing up, but soon everything got back to normal. No. Not normal. Things were better than normal. Although, Paul supposed this was the new normal now, and he certainly didn’t mind.

It felt nice to finally be around John without having to worry - consciously or subconsciously - about his masculinity. He liked spending lazy days together, just spending time in his room, cuddling, kissing, listening to music, composing songs, and playing guitar, and him just being able to take off his binder whenever he wanted. At first it had been awkward; Paul hadn’t been sure if John was alright with that, and John wasn’t sure how to act around him at first. In the beginning, he had clearly avoided looking at his chest, but slowly they had both gotten used to it, and now it simply wasn’t an issue anymore. It was just how things were, and Paul liked that best. After a couple of days, John had even started to offer him massages when he wasn’t feeling well, and the more they started to touch each other, the easier everything else had gotten as well. All in all, it hadn’t taken them longer than a week to adjust.

Even now, as they lay in Paul’s little bed and listened together to a comedy show on the radio, as the rain clattered against the window panes in the background, Paul in John’s arms as he lay against his chest in nothing but a simple shirt and his pyjama bottoms, he was still John’s own little Elvis, a boy and nothing less, and that was all Paul ever wanted. It didn’t matter to John what his body looked like, whether he was a bit curvier than most men, or that his eyebrows were perfectly arched, or that he still needed to wear a binder. It didn’t matter to John, and neither did it matter to Paul. He was happy. Happy with himself and with John, and he deserved to be happy, just like everyone else. He giggled as John nosed his neck and sucked a hickey on his skin.

“Tickles,” he muttered, but John shushed him by placing one of his fingers onto his lips.

“Shh… I’m listening to the radio, Macca,” he said, and Paul rolled his eyes in return, but kept quiet anyway as he let John mark him with kisses, silently enjoying it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was the last chapter and now it's sadly over. But at least our boys are happy. I hope you all enjoyed the story!


End file.
